The Mystery of the Seven Suspects
by ShamelessOCcentricity
Summary: There are seven suspects for a brutal strangling, and there's a problem that not even Sherlock has encountered before: all seven girls have confessed to a crime they didn't commit.
1. Chapter 1

"Mr. Holmes? I'm Theodora Miller; I emailed you to let you know I was coming to talk to you about a case." She offered him a file stamped with the name of a law firm, but he waved it away and motioned for her to sit.

As she joined him at the table, he scanned her pre-emptively. He had no real interest in her case one way or the other, but he couldn't help it. Her hair was the most obvious, as it puffed out around her face, somewhat frizzy and definitely thick.

He noted the slight wave to her hair at the base of her skull. It had recently been pulled back, but too loosely to be for the purpose of fashion (and based on the lack of makeup and the simple clothing, she didn't care for putting up her hair anyway). There was a distinct kink in some of the shorter hairs around her face from being pinned up, so it wasn't athletic related—if it had been, why bother with tiny strands?

No, she'd just come from a chemistry class, but her bag only held a manila folder and a blue binder labelled _Latin IV_. She was taking Latin and an advanced chemistry class—as evidenced by her need to tame her hair—so she was likely studying to be a scientist of some sort.

His gaze travelled to her books. An Agatha Christie novel and a well-worn copy of _Hamlet_ told him enough about her psychology to say she was interested in forensic sciences, having a macabre interest in death. No wonder she knew about him, she probably followed his blog.

Her fingers drummed on the table seven times, her foot tapped twenty-one, and she bit the inside of her lip seven more. As she flipped through her binder for a clean page, her papers were invariably topped with her name and the date and then neatly organised in each individual binder for every subject. Clearly, she suffered from some form of compulsions.

She was also growing increasingly uncomfortable as he studied her unabashedly. Socially awkward, judging by the degree in which even this indirect interaction disturbed her.

As her discomfort grew, she fiddled with a necklace that had seven charms on it, most notably one in the shape of a lightning bolt coming from a cloud.

"Sorry, but what's the case about?" John interrupted.

"My best friend was arrested for the murder of one of our classmates, but_ I know she didn't do it_."

"And how do you know?" Sherlock asked in a bored voice.

"Because I did it."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "So tell the police this."

"I did. The problem is, we all confessed. My friends are very loyal, you see, and they wanted to protect me."

"Really? All seven of you confessed, but only one was arrested?"

"How did you—" Theodora's fingers had tightened around the charm in her surprise, and remembered it as the sharp edges bit into her skin. "Ah, the necklace. Yes, Estella is the lightning bolt."

"Interesting that she's not the falling star."

"That's Helga. It's based on personal preference, not name meanings."

"And you're the seven point star?"

"Well, yes. Now that one I don't understand."

"You have some sort of compulsion about the number seven, and you clutch at the charms of your friends whenever you're worried about them, but never at your own; obviously, the one with the least wear is yours."

"Correct on all accounts."

"Can you describe each friend to me, starting with Estella?"

"Estella Cigam, two days my elder, German and Swedish, she's the lightning bolt and cloud because she loves storms and will brew for days before she finally loses her temper. She's pretty much obsessed with herbs, especially poisons, and she enjoys collecting gems and sewing.

"Helga Latrommi, I haven't the faintest how old she is because she refuses to celebrate her birthday, she's the falling star because we often joke she's actually Helen of Troy, forced to relive mortal life over and over. She's extremely pretty, you see. She meditates and does yoga, and if she has a temper I've never seen it.

"Eva Cormac, my oldest friend and roommate, she's a few days over three months my elder, and her symbol is the thistle because she's obsessed with Scotland, she's a Scot and extremely proud of it. Her dad owns a t-shirt store for tourists who come to Scotland, and she absolutely loves working with him there. Like me, she is always reading and writing.

"Camilla Sawyer, three days younger than me, she's the rose because it's her middle name and she's also very feminine and admittedly rather prickly. She desperately wants to be an actress, and she knits more than most old women when she's not sneaking off campus with a boy."

"Alyssa Latrommi, Helga's adopted sister who's a month younger than me, is the kitten charm because she's like a little black cat; I call her Ally Cat when she's being particularly annoying. She's obsessed with manga and anime, and is really rather quiet around most people.

"Tarquinia Finnegan, the oldest at seven months my elder, is the oak leaf and acorn charm because we call her Artemis or a dryad, since she absolutely loves archery and gardening. She's always up to her elbows in either mischief or dirt.

"And then there's me."

"Why is Estella in the middle?"

"She's our unofficial leader, even though she can't stand being in charge of us. We based it on how we walk, actually. We always walk Helga, Eva, me, Estella, Quinn, Cammy, and Alyssa, from left to right."

"Why?" John asked in bewilderment.

"Conversation flows best that way. I sat down and mapped it out one time."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. "You didn't do it, but you're willing to take that to your grave. I can't help you."

"So says the man who faked his own death to save his friend."

"You understand you will go to prison while a murderer walks free?"

"None of us seven did it, but we all believe otherwise. I've tried to tell them that, I really have, but they all think we're all lying to protect one of the others. We're too damned smart for our own good. Mr. Holmes, if I intended to go to prison to save my friends, I wouldn't come to the best detective around."

"You think you're smart, so maybe you think you're smart enough to fool me."

"I've only got an IQ of 180, and yours is likely a lot higher. No, Mr. Holmes, I come to you because I can't tell the police this:

"_If you cannot find the murderer, I will take the blame_."


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock waited until the girl got into a cab before he ran and got his coat and scarf. "She's gone. Come on, John, we have to go investigate on our own. I want to see just how smart these kids are."

"Why?"

"Because any of the seven might be the murderer."

"Wait… You said she didn't do it!" John called after Sherlock as he bounded off.

The detective made an impatient noise, "I lied to get her to relax! I can't tell a week after a crime has been committed—not when she's a brilliant liar. I couldn't tell whether she was lying when she confessed, or when she said she was innocent but would take the blame anyway." Rather than being upset, he seemed intrigued by this.

"So is this a ten?"

"Don't be ridiculous, it's only an eight."

x-x-x-x-x

_It turned out that the school—Phoenix Landing Boarding School for Gifted Girls—only allowed girls in who showed exemplary marks in normal school and, when tested, had an IQ of over 120 and no criminal record._

_Janet Leary, fifteen, a gorgeous Asian girl, had always been an enemy of the seven girls. She'd known Estella Cigam before they came to Phoenix, and had apparently gossiped behind her back._

_It made sense that the seven girls—by all accounts, a rather odd bunch, not interested in anything the other girls were—were antagonistic towards her on Estella's behalf, of course. Everyone else simply adored Janet._

_According to the police detectives on the case, Janet sealed her fate when she was accused of blackmailing Camilla but convinced the headmistress she didn't do it._

_Estella was furiously refusing to believe Janet hadn't done it. In full view of all the students, Tarquinia lost control and punched her. Theodora had to be held back by Helga and Alyssa, and the other girls were all shouting at Janet. Estella, however, pulled Quinn back._

_The entire school could attest to what Estella said next: "I will make it my personal goal to be the end of you, Janet Leary."_

_And then the seven, thick as thieves, returned to their rooms._

_That night at midnight, _someone_ snuck up on Janet, pushed her to the ground, and strangled her with a belt. The belt belonged to Quinn, Estella's roommate, who admitted that only the seven girls had access to their room, and Estella had been going through the drawer containing the belt that very evening._

_Estella Cigam was arrested the next day while she and the other six were sitting at their usual lunch table in the courtyard. Upon the constable explaining what she was being arrested for, all of the others stood up and claimed they'd done it._

_She turned to them and said, "My crime, my consequence—stay out of it."_

"A bit melodramatic, don't you think? You make it out as if Estella is definitely guilty."

"What—you can't mean you believe her innocent?"

"We haven't even spoken to all seven yet; give her a chance before you post something condemning her."

"Yes, please do." An angry girl's voice said, and John spun around guiltily to see the first of the seven to be interviewed. "I don't know what's in that blog post, but you'd regret posting it. I'm Tarquinia, you know, the one who's rather prone to punching people?"

Sherlock whirled on her, eyes narrow. "But not strangling them?"

She smirked and raised an eyebrow, too smart for that to catch her off guard. "Well, that was just one time, so I wouldn't say I was _prone_ to that." Quinn said smoothly as she closed the door behind her and studied the flat in interest.

"Come in and sit down. John won't post anything about the case itself until I've solved it."

She glared at John and then at Sherlock before relenting and sitting down on the edge of the couch.

"It should worry me that I'm facing the man who's smart enough to prove I'm a murderer, but honestly all I feel is relief."

"How did you meet Estella?" Sherlock asked, pressing his fingers together and studying her.

"Oh, um, she was my roommate, that's all at first. And Lord, she was brilliant. She couldn't go one second without lecturing me on herbs. I was writing a story one night, right? She comes up behind me as silent as a ghost and after a moment, she says "arsenic isn't a good arrow poison" and then walks off. The next time she spoke to me, she was telling me this one girl—a real diva, let me just say—was most susceptible to being _killed with kindness_ than sarcastic humour."

"And what about Theodora? How did you come to know her?"

"Well, apparently the table Estella and I sat at was the only one free when Theo came from the library, so she sat down. I asked Estella to hold my hair band while I got lunch, and when I came back she'd given it to Theo to hide and they spent the entire lunch period insisting Theo had slingshot it up into the bird's nest."

"Camilla?"

She didn't need further prompting. "Cammy was Janet's roommate, and none too pleased about it. Estella met her when she extended her condolences for having such an idiot for a roommate, and invited her to our table when she laughed. She was hilarious, and we got on really well, especially when I got in rows with Estella—Theo always took Estella's side, and Eva follows Theo everywhere with a shrug and a smile to anyone else."

"You're not close to Eva, then?"

"No, she's always been _Theo's_ and no one else's. She started hanging out with Cammy every weekend and Theo actually stomped her foot and whined, "But Eva's _mine_!" Hilarious, really."

"What about Alyssa?"

"Alyssa's great, really quiet, but it's a good thing; she never takes sides and she's always first to come to the three of us—that's me, Estella, and Theo—and tell us to calm down and talk to each other again. Without her, we'd be a mess."

"That leaves Helga."

"Dude, Helga scares me. She knows everything. We called her Helen of Troy, right? She started calling me Artemis, Theo Athena, Estella Eris, Camilla Eros, Eva Aphrodite, and Alyssa Eirene. I asked her why only she wasn't a goddess, then, and you know what she said? _Why would anyone want to live a human life forever?_ And if Estella is like a ghost, when Helga sneaks up on you it's like she doesn't exist."

"Hmm. So she could've easily snuck up on Janet, pushed her down, and strangled her with a belt she took from your room without you noticing?"

Tarquinia's eyes blazed and she jumped up, glaring

"Relax, Miss Finnegan, Theodora told me that none of you did it and I believe her. It's hard to lie to me."

"You may believe her and you may not. But I won't believe you."

"I don't have any more questions."

"Good," She said, and stalked over to the door.

John spoke for the first time: "Did you kill Janet Leary?"

"You know what, John Watson? I walked up behind her, pushed her down into the mud, wrapped that belt around her neck, and pulled. I waited until she stopped struggling and ran back to my room, just because she said a few slanderous things about Estella and Cammy. Post _that_ on your blog, doctor."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as the door slammed behind her.

"Was she lying? That didn't sound like lying. Sherlock? Sherlock!"

"She called me dude." Sherlock said. Then, "I need to brush up on my Greek mythology. Are you coming, John?"

Neither one of them commented on the fact that John followed with a shrug and a smile.


End file.
